


Chickenwire

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Coercion, Creepy, Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Statutory Rape, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were so lucky to have someone like him to guide them along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chickenwire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. If you're someone I've promised a fic to and are looking at this thinking, "Hey, this isn't X/Y/Z thing!" it is because I have been very sick lately and am completely swamped. Never to fear! I am working on many things right now and it may take a while but you have not been forgotten! 
> 
> As for this fic; this is something born from a very odd conversation with a friend. I don't actually believe the twins would be virgins but that was the whole prompt and, hey, I stuck with it. Also, if you're having trouble with the fact that someone who is five hundred someodd years old would be a virgin, keep in mind that Bumblebee is technically at least a thousand and portrayed as a child.

This probably wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t caught them kissing. Really, it wasn’t anything they had ever thought about doing, because the kissing was something they had always done, even before their accident, and that was simply the way things were.

Sentinel did not agree, though, and made sure they knew it. To be like that with your other half was wrong, and sick, and if they ever did it again he was going to straighten them out for it. They refrained from telling him they had been doing it before the specific time he had stumbled in on them, because they were embarrassed at having been so ignorant for so long and while nothing had seemed bad about it before, Sentinel Prime was their boss, and their mentor, and their future Magnus, and so it must be true.

So for a while they abstained, and it hurt. They supposed they should be thankful that there was no ban on the hugging, or the closeness in general, but to lose a part of their bond that had been so natural before was like losing a limb. They could not forget the way it felt. Pressed close together in their bunk during the off cycle, they took turns pressing their lips against the back of one another’s hands, hoping nervously that this too was not forbidden.

As it turned out, though, the kissing was not actually what had been wrong before. They learned that it was simply themselves who had been the problem. Sentinel would call them to his quarters, sometimes, when he had been relaxing with the higher grade energons they weren’t allowed to have yet, and then they were permitted to do it. He would arrange them, often on their knees, on the floor or the foot of the berth depending on where he was reclined. They linked their servos, hopefully anxious.

“Sentinel Prime, sir,” said Jetfire, biting his lip.

“Is this not being wrong?” Jetstorm bashfully lowered his gaze.

Sentinel took a long swig before he answered.

“Nah its, it okay now because…” a pause. He looked at them, scrutinizing, optics bright with overcharge.

“How old are you again?”

“We are being five hundred and six stellar cycles, sir!” they spoke simultaneously, backs straightening in an attempt to appear serious. He snorted at that, swiping a hand down his face briefly, and they shared a glance, worried they had made some mistake.

“Alright, it’s okay now because you have, you have adult supervision.”

Then it must be so.

Their lips met for the first time in what felt like vorns and Cybertron seemed to stop on its axis. It was soft, chaste, a series of slow pecks on the mouth, the cheek, the nasal ridge. Perhaps this was the reason they needed the supervision, because Sentinel scoffed a little, and directed them. Harder, closer, use your tongues. It took them nearly a full deci-cycle to really figure that out, but they were determined and when they finally got it the success felt so, so good.

Sentinel was very patient with them too. He was dedicated, they realized, to help them perfect whatever it was they were doing, because he asked them back many times after to repeat and improve their performance. They could tell they were really getting good at it when Sentinel would get quiet, no more suggestions or criticisms, just heavy, excited ventilating, and occasionally his internal cooling system would switch on, as if he were the one doing the work and not them. He would send them away very quickly after that, and while it was a little confusing, they always left proud, and hot, shaking like they did after a good round in the simulator.

One night he grabbed them. Not hard, like when he was angry, but firmly, on the backs of their helms, pushing them closer together.

“Touch each other.”

They didn’t understand what he meant, because their hands were already clasped together in their laps, knees bumping when their movements got too rough. They couldn’t let Sentinel down, though, anyone but him, so they wrapped their arms around each other and, with light encouragement from the strong arms on their backs, pushed until they were chest to chest. The position required them to rise up on their knees a bit, and Sentinel must have liked that because he whispered something very quietly to himself, servos moving lower on their spinal struts until he reached their waists and pressed those together too.

From this close they could feel each other’s warmth acutely, Jetfire almost painfully so as their cooling fans kicked up a notch. Sentinel seemed content with this for a little while, but after they had resumed kissing for a few kliks his hands pulled away.

“Come on,” he whispered, almost conspiratorially, as if this were all a big joke they were in on together, “lower.”

They did as he directed. It was odd, and nice, because in this kind of setting it felt very different than it would have before, during training or washing or recharge, hot. They didn’t really understand their goal, but every time they pulled away with the intent to ask Sentinel grasped their helms and pushed them back, or spoke words of encouragement, so rarely heard in sweeter tones that it felt a sin to disobey them. It didn’t seem to matter though, because pretty soon after that he sent them away, wiping condensation from his brow and moving to the berth.

It was exciting and disappointing all at once, because it felt good to receive praise, but it had been feeling almost as good to touch like that, and they weren’t permitted to do it away from Sentinel’s careful watch. Or without his permission. They had, only once, tried to tease him during a practice, a few hands placed here and there upon each other’s frames when asking a favor, and he had whipped the punishment down on them so hard and so fast they barely knew what had happened once it ended.

They were not wholly innocent to the idea of interface, at least conceptually. It simply…never occurred to them. They had never seen interface. They had absolutely no protocols in their databanks on the subject. It was something older bots did and they didn’t. They never thought to ask.

When they were in Sentinel’s quarters again, though, and he had them pressed flush, hands and mouths tracing each other’s frames, they were both surprised, together, by the emergence of several system updates regarding the subject. A pause. They broke away from one another, confused. Sentinel growled.

“What?”

Confused, but not confused enough to disappoint their boss, they returned to each other’s arms. He liked the uncomfortable shifting of their hips though, a new weight settling between their legs. A few more tentative brushes of the hand, and they bumped their crotches together, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure and finding it only made things worse. They parted again to gasp and Sentinel puffed a hot chuff of air at them.

“You’re enjoying this, cogs?”

They genuinely didn’t know. Jetfire looked up at him, Jetstorm hiding his face against their shoulders.

“Sir, is this, is this to be being…interface?”

Sentinel looked as though they had just shot at him.

“Excuse me? Are you accusing me of something?”

“No!” said Jetstorm, and Jetfire quailed against him.

“Are you saying I would actively attempt to take advantage of my troops?”

He was clearly angry at them now, although neither was quite sure why. They should have just kept their mouths shut.

“No, Sentinel Prime, sir! We are just, just to be wondering, is all!” Jetfire stammered, fingers involuntarily seeking out his brothers and lacing them together.

“Because,” Jetstorm picked up, squeezing their hands, “we are getting systems update and…warm in bodies…”

Sentinel’s face was slowly shifting into an expression they didn’t recognize, and he trailed off, unsure.

“System updates, huh?”

They shifted again, acutely aware of the pressure still straining between their thighs. He was silent for a moment, contemplating.

“Alright, we’re done here.”

He stood, ushering them to the door. They didn’t want to leave, though, because the heat was building, and felt like it was going somewhere, and they wanted to know where but they couldn’t explore on their own and didn’t entirely know how.

Their disappointment didn’t last long.

When Sentinel called them into his room next two things were very obviously different. One, he was sitting upright and attentive on his berth, and two he was clearly not overcharged. It was unusual to see him so serious in their private time, and it made them nervous. They saluted him stiffly in an attempt to hide it.

“You are calling us, sir?”

He appraised them for a klik.

“Come here.”

They went and knelt before him, assuming the usual position across from one another, but stopped when he waved a hand between them.

“No, not tonight. We’re moving on to the next level.”

“Next level?” They exchanged glances before they could stop themselves.

“Yeah. Next level.” His frown deepened.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir!”

He dropped his hands into his lap and drew their attention for the first time to his spread thighs. As their gazes dropped, he smiled.

“You know why I’ve been calling you two in here, right?”

Jetstorm shrugged. Jetfire’s nasal ridge wrinkled in consternation.

“To be…supervising the kissing, yes?”

“What?” said Sentinel, and then realization seemed to hit him, “oh, yeah, yeah, that. But see, there’s more to it than the kissing. Do you know what I mean?”

Again they were at a loss for proper words. Jetfire swiveled his optics away, because they were both thinking that this harkened back to their earlier conversation but didn’t want to say it. Whether their supposed ignorance annoyed Sentinel or not was unclear.

“You know I work hard for you two, right?”

They nodded.

“So you’d say it’s only fair I get a little bit back, right?”

Again, a nod. Anything for the bot that saved them, gave them flight.

“Good.”

And when he leaned back, something else shifted too. Between his legs, his panel pulled apart and his spike rose up. It was the first time they had ever seen something like that. They knew what it was of course; core programming never lied. Perhaps caught up in sympathetic wonder, their own bodies heated, and for a second their processors shorted dead.

Their lack of response seemed to please Sentinel. That or the stunned look on their faceplates.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “I have that effect on bots.”

They were curious, and increasingly confused, and they itched to inspect this new appendage. He could see it in their quivering servos.

“Come on, touch it.”

So they did. Two hands, working in unison, equally tentative and equally eager, reached out, hesitated, and grasped. The metal was hot beneath their fingers, and jumped slightly when they made contact. Sentinel groaned a deep, throaty noise that they took, rightly, as a good sign. They moved closer, adjusted their grip, not really sure how to proceed but inexplicably wanting. Good thing Sentinel was always there to help them.

“Come on,” he took their hands in one of his own, moving slowly up and down, “like this, yeah…”

The spike bobbed beneath their touch, and they could feel his energy field pulse pleasurably, relaxing back as they took the initiative on their own. It was…strange, at first. And exciting. Sentinel put hand to their shoulders, rubbing in a soothing manner they were unfamiliar with but liked. A little fluid began to collect at the top, dribbling slowly down onto Jetfire’s hand. It was warm and a bit gross.

“Taste it.”

He couldn’t really mean what they thought he meant? Jetstorm didn’t pause in his stroking, but Jetfire looked up.

“Yeah, you.”

The hand on his shoulder moved to cup the back of his neck, just hard enough to get the warning across. Uncomfortable again but for different reasons, Jetfire pulled his fingers closer to his lips, leaning in as he was urged to. He sniffed experimentally and made a face. It was bitter and rich, like joint grease and unprocessed crude. Jetstorm’s hand slowed, but he watched.

“Well?” the impatient lilt in Sentinel’s voice sent a bolt of shame down his spinal strut, and in one quick jerk he moved in and lapped the drops clean away. He would have regretted it instantly, were it not for the husky praise the action was met with, because it tasted worse than it smelled. He could feel Jetstorm’s sympathetic disgust echo in his spark.

Sentinel’s hands pushed them closer still, crowding their helms together up against his inner thighs. His spike, leaning to the right, pushed hot and heavy on Jetstorm’s cheek and he stiffened.

“Keep going.”

They glanced up at him, neither willing to make the first move. Sentinel’s grin dropped.

“I thought,” he sneered, “you had agreed to be loyal to your Prime?”

“Oh, we are being!” Jetstorm nodded, awkward against his protruding arousal.

“And yet you aren’t going to perform this simple task for me?”

Again, guilt. Desperate to appease, Jetfire began to bring his hands back to their earlier task.

“No!” and now he was really annoyed, “your mouths.”

They were so close already, it took very little maneuvering to press their lips against the sides of his shaft. He pushed against their helms, harder, moving them along it as he pleased, and they did their best to keep up. They were quick learners; he’d told them so himself. It didn’t take too long for them to fall into a rhythm of lips and tongue and teeth, always careful, attentive. The firmness of his grip on their helms was an affirmation, and the heavier his hand, the stronger their drive to please him.

Already wary of the taste, Jetfire stayed near the base of his spike, but as their concentration grew Jetstorm found himself straying upwards. Sentinel liked this, held him there until he reached the head and then forced his lips around it. Their size class was basically the same, but Jetstorm was unused to this kind of activity and tried to jerk away instinctively when Sentinel pushed further inside. Two hands on his helm, holding him in place. Jetfire stopped what he was doing, watching with increasing worry.

Jetstorm whined a bit, trying to talk and nearly gagging when the action allowed Sentinel to slip all the way to the back of his tongue. He reached to the side, blindly, and grasped Jetfire’s hand.

“Sir,” whispered Jetfire, embarrassed, “is hurting him!”

“You get used to it.”

Sentinel continued pressing onwards, until Jetstorm gagged and struggled a little bit, before pulling out just enough to let him get his bearings. Not for long, though. Jetstorm hunched his back, trying his best not to disappoint. It felt wrong to have something so solid in his mouth. His brother’s tongue had been different, tangled with his own, right, a part of himself simply carried in another vessel. Sentinel pushed in deeper with every stroke, groaning low in his throat.

“You’re doing great,” he purred, “use your tongue.”

Jetstorm could not even begin to imagine how he would accomplish that. It was enough trying not to pull away, but to actively interact with the object invading him? Weakly, he shifted his jaw wider, despite the burning ache already beginning to spread through it, tapping the tip of his glossa against the rough underside as gently as possible. The simple action brought a wave of warning signals across his processor, informing him of potential damages caused by this reckless endangerment of his inner helm, of the pressure against his intake tubing, and he began to panic. Jetfire squeezed his hand reassuringly, but he could feel the nerves reflected in his brother’s spark, see himself through different optics, oral solvents drooling slowly down his chin as he choked Sentinel down.

“That’s good…” Sentinel rumbled appreciatively. Jetfire opened and closed his mouth, wanting to say something but unable to find the words. His efforts were noticed anyways.

“You feeling left out?”

He wasn’t, really, so he just looked dimly into his boss’s optics and tugged his lips into a forced smile.

“Come here.”

Sure that Jetstorm would not try to escape him; Sentinel relaxed his grip, removing one hand to lazily gesture to the berth. Already practically in his lap, Jetfire simply crawled over his leg, awkwardly positioning himself to look as dignified as he could. He wanted to present an air of readiness, but Jetstorm was still upset and he could hardly bear to leave his side. Whether Sentinel noticed or not, he didn’t seem to care.

“Closer, you idiot.”

An arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him in, so quickly that he had to brace himself against Sentinel’s chest to keep from falling. Jetstorm tried to mumble something again, barely filtering up through the obscenely wet noises he was already making. Jetfire shot him an apologetic look.

He was distracted quickly enough when Sentinel’s wandering hand discovered his aft and gave it a hard squeeze. He squawked and Sentinel laughed.

“Bet you like that, huh?”

His fingers spread, moving lower inside his legs to press against his paneling there and Jetfire was nearly shocked blind by the sensation.

“How’s it feel?”

Giving him no time to recover or room to think, Sentinel kept his thick fingers pressed firmly against his seams, rocking them back and forth over the area and making his newly awakened equipment fire to life. A slew of notices flashed across his vision.

“It is…I am feeling…”

“Good, yeah?”

Sentinel smacked two fingers across it lightly and he yelped.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Jetstorm was beginning to whine around his spike, jaw burning with pain each time Sentinel’s hips snapped up. Through the budding pleasure in his plating, Jetfire tried to extend his field in sympathy. The fingers against his panel grew rougher, more insistent. Something hot and wet seeped out down his thigh.

“Sir,” he whined, “sir!”

“Open it.”

He didn’t know how. Squirming as his legs became slicker, he shuttered his optics.

“I said open it, soldier!”

“I, I am not…!” but even as he tried to explain, a spark of data popped to life in his hard drive, coding bursting online below. With a soft chirr, the panel split and retracted. Cold air hit his inner covers for the first time. He shuddered, gasping when Sentinel pressed his same two fingers through the sheen of pearly lubricant to his valve cover. Primed and ready, his calipers reacted to the touch even behind the spiraled petals of their seal, expanding rapidly.

“Primus,” Sentinel was moaning, “you’re so fragging wet.”

Jetfire gripped his chest harder, pressing his face into it to hide his shame. Below them, Jetstorm shuddered, gagging again as the spike pulsed in his mouth. It was enough to draw attention back to him, Sentinel curling his lip into a nasty sneer.

“Get off me.”

He pushed Jetstorm back so suddenly that he was stunned for a nano-klik, lying still on the floor. Jetfire wanted to call to him but a moment later Sentinel was scooting back against the wall, pulling him up into his lap. His spike slid easily between Jetfire’s trembling thighs, tapping against his soaked panel.

The contact alone made the final barrier between them slide back, and Jetfire jumped away from the unexpected heat against his delicate mesh. Jetstorm was coughing behind him, he could feel it, but Sentinel began to rub the rounded head of his spike between his outer folds and the sensation caused him to freeze. He whined, shaking.

“Sir! What is…I, I am wanting…”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

One of Sentinel’s hands gripped his hip, the other creeping down between his thighs. His fingers spread around his own spike, still nudging Jetfire gently, pinched his valve lips, spreading them wide. Jetfire jumped, moaning helplessly. Sentinel’s palm ground back against his exterior node and he was nearly blinded by the pleasure.

“Sentinel Prime, Sir!”

Jetstorm was watching from below, optical band bright. He had a perfect view of their contact, could feel the echoing ache from his brother’s systems. His own valve, still neatly sealed away, contracted hard on nothing as Sentinel slowly rubbed two fingers down the center of Jetfire’s cut, not quite pushing in enough to penetrate, only to tease. Jetstorm pushed his own hands into his lap, not exactly touching himself but adding pressure to his panel, crossing his legs tight around them in hopes of keeping it closed. He didn’t want to disappoint Sentinel by exposing himself before he was asked to, assuming, hopefully, he would be. His throat throbbed dully, and he tried to imagine the same fat, full feeling inside himself down _there_.

Streams of lubricant were beginning to run down Jetfire’s thighs, drooling viscously onto Sentinel’s spike. It was hot, so hot, but heat was something he was more than used to and it only made him squirm harder. Sentinel kept passing over his valve with the barest of touches and it was driving his sensory net wild, calipers spreading and squeezing periodically, unsure whether to open wide or clamp down.

Then, all at once, they pushed in. Sentinel was not gentle, simply jabbing two inside with no forewarning. Jetfire arched, trembling as his body tried to expel the sudden intrusion. They wriggled further still, Sentinel’s firm grasp on his hip turning painfully tight in a small punishment as Jetfire squeezed him. About halfway to his second knuckle joint, he paused, hitting a wall. Jetfire notably tensed.

“Ha,” Sentinel groaned, servo-tips rubbing tight circles on the rubbery barrier, “do you know what this is, soldier?”

Jetfire tried to shake his head, realizing only too late that he still had his face buried in Sentinel’s shoulder.

“N-no, Sentinel Prime, sir, am not knowing…”

Sentinel laughed, a husky, deep chuckle that made both the twins shudder.

“This,” he said, emphasizing his word with a poke, “is your factory seal. It means you’ve never been touched here.”

Unable to respond, Jetfire could only hold on tighter as Sentinel prodded him. It hurt, rather surprisingly so, but his palm was still pressed hard against Jetfire’s exterior node and the mix of pleasure and pain was making it hard to think, let alone move to reply.

“You two trust me, don’t you?”

Jetstorm, grinding subtly against the floor below, nodded vigorously.

“Oh yes, Sentinel Prime, sir, yes! We are trusting you so fully, very thankfully, sir!”

“And what about you?”

Jetfire was still shaking, mouth hanging open as he panted wetly.

“I, I, ahh-ah…”

The fingers pushed hard.

“Well?”

“Sir!”

Something inside him was going to snap, he was sure of it. The burn increased and he threw his head back, gasping.

“Do you trust me, you little malfunction?”

He twisted his fingers meanly and Jetfire felt his mind go to pieces.

“Yes sir! Yes, Sentinel Prime, sir, oh sir, you are, you are being most trusted, most special bot! We are so, so trusting of you, sir!”

He could feel Sentinel’s smile against his neck.

“Will you give your seals to me, then?”

Not even sure what he meant, Jetfire nodded, babbling. Jetstorm crawled forward on the floor, watching, wrapping his arms around Sentinel’s shin to stabilize himself.

“Good.”

His fingers thrust up, tearing the seal apart. Jetfire screeched, trying to pull away again but not letting go. Burying himself all the way to the knuckle, Sentinel groaned, feeling the soft inner lining ripple around him.

“Calm down!” he commanded.

Jetfire thrashed.

“Trying, sir!”

Jetstorm gripped his brother’s heel, rubbing concentric circles on his calf in an attempt to reassure him. It was only semi-successful, their fields flaring towards each other and intertwining, shaken. Sentinel left no time to adjust, stroking as deeply as he could before sliding halfway out and beginning to thrust his servos fast, cruelly. Jetfire struggled against him, not exactly trying to get away but not sure he wanted to stay either. His lubricants spattered out, flecking across a surprised Jetstorm’s faceplates.

Sentinel curled his fingers against a certain point and Jetfire wailed. His circuitry was in a tizzy, trying to keep up with the waves of new data being forced through it. Jetstorm could feel every twitch, every burst of charge crawling along his brother’s nerve system, and a small part of him praised the Allspark that is wasn’t him, because he was sure that he would have burst into flames by now.

A third finger squeezed inside.

“You know, you should thank me for this,” said Sentinel, almost managing to sound bored, “I doubt anyone else would be quite as patient with you two brats.”

He shifted Jetfire a little closer, pushing his aft higher and giving Jetstorm a better view of the servos working his brother wide.

“Nobody else. You two are a real handful, sometimes, but I’ve always been good and patient with you, haven’t I?”

The speed at which he pumped his servos inside Jetfire increased and the mech whined long and thin.

“That’s right, I have. Do you think anyone else would have given you all this time to prepare yourselves? All these helpful warnings, training sessions?”

Neither of them was really in a place where they could answer. It mattered not; Sentinel answered for them.

“No. just me.”

He smiled into Jetfire’s neck.

“That’s all you got. Me.”

He eased his fingers away, enjoying the lasting shudders it produced, the obscenely wet sounds as a healthy dollop of lubricant followed. Jetfire slumped against him, charge crackling down his spinal strut. He’d probably been just a step away from overload, but Sentinel knew that.

“Get up here.”

He jerked his head to indicate the berth. Jetstorm, who had been concentrating more on awkwardly humping the air, took a moment to respond.

“Ah-ahh, yes Sentinel P-Prime, sir.”

He could not stand, so he crawled, incredibly nervous, up beside them, to the space his brother had previously occupied. Jetfire peeked out from Sentinel’s chest and they made brief optical contact. The complex weave of emotion and sensation his other was trying to share through the bond threw Jetstorm for a loop, unable to fully comprehend the feelings he himself had never experienced. He reached for his brother, tentatively, but stopped when Sentinel thrust his lubricant-coated fingers in his face.

“Clean this up.”

His tone was low. Jetstorm swallowed thickly, hesitating, and Sentinel rolled his optics.

“With your mouth, you dent.”

Still Jetstorm remained frozen, so Sentinel decided to assist him. He grasped the back of Jetstorm’s helm with one hand, shoving his wetted fingers against his lips with the other.

“Suck.”

Jetstorm gasped, inadvertently allowing them access. His jaw still ached from before, and he was hesitant to accept anything new into his mouth, but the fingers were smaller and Sentinel made no further move to work at him, so he steeled himself and closed his lips around them. The lubricant was tangy and bitter, not entirely unpleasant, like worker-grade fuel mixed with the familiar comfort of his brother’s mouth. He laved away what he could with his glossa, remembering Sentinel’s pleased response to the technique, and was rewarded with a small pet on the helm.

“Good boy.”

Sentinel turned back to Jetfire, pulling his hand away now slick with spit. Jetfire wasn’t watching him, though, but his brother, who rubbed his jaw dourly.

“You wanna kiss him again, huh?” Sentinel sneered. “Kiss him better?”

It sounded like an admonishment, but Jetfire nodded anyways, desperate for the comfort. Surprisingly, Sentinel reached back and grabbed Jetstorm by the neck, pulling him to his chest and giving them space to maneuver. His grip tightened on Jetfire’s hips, holding him in place, but the two found each other’s lips easily, wrapping their arms around one another’s shoulders. Jetstorm whined into the tender movement, throat contracting painfully. Jetfire reached up to caress his face, a slow, chaste motion, tasting himself.

Then Jetfire froze, sucking in ventilation fast, and arched back, mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. Jetstorm gripped him tighter, in shock, looking down just in time to see his brother’s valve swallow the last inch of Sentinel’s spike. The following twinge in his own equipment was enough to make his hips jump of their own accord, and he pressed his face against his brother’s chest, wishing there was something he could do.

Sentinel was enjoying everything about this. Jetfire’s valve was so incredibly tight, and wet, and fresh. His spike was the first to breach its walls, would be the first to bring it to overload. They may go on to other partners once he lost interest in them, maybe diddle around with each other, perhaps at his request (because, really, wasn’t the idea that had started the whole thing in the first place?), but he would always be there in their minds, always their first. Jetfire quivered around him, a soft gush of air escaping his vents, as though he were decompressing.

He was lifted off Sentinel’s spike slowly, a process that was almost as painful as being pressed down on it had been. His legs quivered, dripping, and he had to fight hard with himself to keep from drooling. Sentinel’s spike was smoother than others, certainly, but it was fat and knobbed and every shift between them sent fire up his lining. Once he was almost all the way out there was a pause, a long one, and he tried to pull his mind together but it was so hard and then-

A shift, a tug, and he was slammed back down. It was much faster, much rougher than before, and this time his vocalizer caught up with his processor and he shrieked. Sentinel laughed, and he was already being pulled up again, and dropped again, and he reached for his brother to ground himself because pixels were shooting up behind his optics and his equilibrium sensors were on the fritz. Jetstorm’s fingers once again interwove with his own, and he could feel his brother’s breath on his faceplates. Then he tasted him, drawn forward into a tender kiss as Sentinel continued thrusting into him, even encouraged as a stray hand found his neck and pushed him forwards into it.

Jetfire’s valve was molten hot. It almost hurt, but Sentinel was not deterred in the slightest. If anything, it only spurred him on more, as if the heat was caused solely by his incredible erotic prowess, and not likely a byproduct of his subordinate’s natural gift. The twins were still kissing, getting little trails of oral solvent everywhere as Jetfire’s ability to express himself coherently devolved into mindless pleasure and Jetstorm was swept along with him, and there were very few things Sentinel would ever admit to seeing that aroused him more. He pulled the youth down hard, slamming his hips up accordingly and pounding him until he was positive he’d ruptured a few minor fuel lines in that perfect, flexing valve, and Jetfire contracted, back bowed, lost to his first overload.

He couldn’t even scream, vocalizer shorting as he tore his mouth away from his brother’s to gasp down mouthfuls of air, trying to keep his overworked systems from literally igniting, barely conscious of it. Overloading was indescribable, even without his limited linguistic capabilities. There was a vague sensation of concern from down the bond, Jetstorm’s shaking hands still clutching his own somewhere off in the ether, but Jetfire could hardly find it within himself to notice. His vision whited, every particle of his being consumed with the incredible feeling of Sentinel’s spike inside him, as if that was the only part of his frame still in existence on the physical plain. Every circuit was numbed to all feeling outside pleasure and fire.

Sentinel watched Jetfire black out with a swell of pride pushing out his chest plates. Sure, he hadn’t finished yet, but it wasn’t like that was the only valve in the room. Besides, after that stunning display he’d be more than surprised if the bot didn’t come crawling back for more the moment his spark stopped bursting little crackles of charge out from his seams and his processor slowed to a manageable pace. He pushed Jetfire from his lap to the berth on his left, swooping in on his flighty brother before he could follow his downed twin. Caution completely thrown to the wind as his heady power-trip lightened his hard drives, Sentinel smashed their lips together in a shockingly violent kiss.

It was the first time Jetstorm had ever tasted anyone outside his brother, and he was terrified. Terrified, and incredibly humbled. Sentinel Prime was so good at it, overpowering his weak attempts to reciprocate with ease, fully dominating him before he’d even slipped fully into his superior’s lap. The concern for Jetfire remained, but surely, surely, Sentinel Prime, their savior, hadn’t really hurt him. not in any lasting way, at least, and his hands were straying down to the apex of Jetstorm’s own untouched thighs and suddenly every phantom sensation he’d been receiving made sense.

“Sentinel, sir!”

His panel snapped open at the first hint of contact, and then again as Sentinel smacked his valve cover. Already dialed up by the previous action, the cold air was almost painful against his aching equipment. With even less pretext than he’d given Jetfire, if such carelessness was even possible, Sentinel shoved his servos inside, scissoring the blue mesh open around the entrance, prodding the seal insistently.

“I’m gonna take this,” he growled, fingering it so roughly a small tear appeared already, felt by them both.

“Oh, yes, please sir!” Jetstorm, not wanting to offend his boss, dug his fingers into his own thighs for support, squeezing until they dented.

“Please, just like you are doing with brother, please…”

Sentinel kissed him again, equally rough as before, ripping his fingers away to wrap them around a jumping blue hip. Jetstorm’s valve was soaked, worse than Jetfire had gotten their entire session, and it took him a few tries to properly line them up, blunt spike head slipping to and fro in the mess. Every time it so much as grazed Jetstorm’s entrance he moaned whorishly, wriggling in a way that both hardened Sentinel’s spike like nothing else and made it supremely difficult to proceed with the penetration. Finally, enough was enough.

“Primus beneath us!”

Sentinel cursed, throwing Jetstorm down beside his brother. Thinking he had done something wrong (let him), Jetstorm cowered, just catching a glimpse of Jetfire’s amber optics coming online to his right before Sentinel’s hands were on him again.

“Am to be sorry, sir! Please, don’t with the stopping!”

“Shut up.”

Manhandling the mech’s hips up to meet his own, Sentinel sheathed himself in one smooth motion, the hardly audible pop of Jetstorm’s seal proving absolutely no resistance. Jetstorm’s visor off-lined with a howl, one hand reaching to his belly where he could finally feel the real sensation of being filled, cupping the area above his pelvic span almost reverently, the other reaching blindly for the warmth of his brother.

He had damaged Jetfire towards the end of their entanglement, certainly, but Jetstorm was bleeding right off the bat and, if his wretchedly desperate cries were anything to go by, loving every nano-klik of it.

“Hurts!” he wailed, even as he pressed his hips urgently upwards. Sentinel could just make out the tint of pink amid the pearly lubricant that spilled between his thrusts, Jetstorm’s ridged valve lips strained white for lack of stretching. The smell was strong and acidic, and he could no easier stop himself from enjoying it than he could cease the piston-quick movement of his hips.

Jetfire, seemingly partially recuperated from his first, perfect overload, curled into his brother’s side, wrapping himself around the nearest arm and trying to cushion Jetstorm’s helm as he bounced into the berth padding. Even through his exhaustion he could feel the burn returning between his thighs, painfully aware of the purple spots blooming in the delicate mesh as his snapped fuel tubing struggled to mend. Sentinel slapped him across the aft, not missing a beat, laughing at his hoarse whine.

“You want some, you want summore, huh?”

He wanted whatever Sentinel wanted. Burying his face into Jetstorm’s still rocking neck, he angled his hips back, offering himself up. It earned him another smack, but then three servos bluntly mashed inside, hurting terribly, wonderfully. Sentinel’s hips slowed momentarily as he adjusted to the dueling patterns of thrusts and Jetstorm practically sobbed with pleasure.

“Sir, thank you sir!” they were both speaking, not in perfect unison but close enough to almost give the illusion of it. Jetstorm had rolled just slightly onto his side, chest brushing Jetfire’s, and the two clanged together nearly hard enough to spark with each roll of his hips. Sentinel straightened his back, moving his grip to Jetstorm’s thigh to better accommodate his changing position, and yanked their hips together harder and harder. His own overload was approaching fast, a bolt of lightning rocketing down his spinal strut and swelling in his spike.

Jetstorm’s optical band met his brother’s optics, searching for something he was unsure of himself, only slightly recognizing the pressure building in the bowl of his interface hardware. Sentinel’s spike jabbed his back wall mercilessly, and he felt his interior nodes, the nature of which he was not yet familiar with, practically bursting from the raw lining, electricity crawling across his thighs. Jetfire was curling into him more with every thrust, Sentinel’s fingers still active and hot inside him, and the feeling of their combined pleasure tipping back and forth across their bond proved to be too much.

Clutching each other tightly, the twins overloaded together, sensation bouncing between the two, amplifying with each echo.

“Brother!”

Their lips met. Already on the brink, Sentinel let himself go. The room was spinning as he slammed Jetstorm’s hips down onto his own one last time, forcing him to take every last drop of his transfluid even as Jetstorm’s own ejaculate lubricants splashed between them. He cried out, unprepared for the heat inside him, and Jetfire cuddled closer, attracted by it, almost jealous. Of course, how could he really be jealous, when Sentinel’s overload was a result of their combined efforts, when he could feel, nearly real, tangible reflections of the spray of fluid inside his own rippling valve?

When he was fully spent, Sentinel sat back on his haunches, wiping a bit of condensation off his brow. The two were still twitching the last aftershocks out, ventilations coming out in breathy little whines. A small strand of oral solvent connected their lips from their broken kiss, and the sight made his spike twitch, another small drip of transfluid oozing from the tip. Another time, perhaps.

“Alright,” he pushed Jetstorm’s aft with the tip of his boot, “get out of here. We have basic training in ten cycles.”

Stirring, they managed to push themselves upright on their elbows, fixing him with weak, drooping optics.

“Y…yes sir, Sentinel Prime, sir…thank you…”

“Thank you, sir…”

They meant it, sincerely.

Jetstorm had sustained more damage down below, but Jetfire seemed the worse off between them, exhausted from not one but two overloads. They gripped each other tightly, wobbling when they stood, thick gobs of mixed liquids seeping down their slender legs. The berth was a mess. Sentinel didn’t care enough to move out of it. He'd call in the cleaning staff when he was out the next work cycle. Recharge beckoned.

Going from the berth to the door had never been so difficult. They were both limping. If it hurt this much with Sentinel, they could only imagine how painful some other bot, someone who didn’t care for them as he did, would have left them feeling. They were almost at the door when a theatrically loud cough stopped them.

“You’re not going out there like that.” Sentinel was on his back, arms behind his helm, not exactly looking at them. He sighed, long and bored.

“Get cleaned up. You can use my wash rack.” This he indicated with a slight jab of his impressive chin.

“Make it quick though, and don’t get solvent everywhere! The tiling in there is Tarakian, imported.”

With that he rolled to face the wall. Jetfire couldn’t help but smile, noticing his twin was doing the same as they turned, still supporting one another, and made their way slowly across the room. They were so lucky to have someone to take care of them. They were so lucky to have someone like Sentinel Prime in their lives.


End file.
